


The Horror of Our Love

by PlumTea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Blood and Gore, Final Haikyuu Quest, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: Iwaizumi died once, and Oikawa used a terrible magic to bring him back. Now with horns growing on his head, Oikawa's not sure what he's become.





	The Horror of Our Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magepaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magepaw/gifts).



> My half of a trade with my friend who loves tragedies, Miyu. In exchange, they drew my good girl [Abby](https://twitter.com/Magepaw/status/1017298770097143808)!

Two boys scamper through the forest, too young to care about class lines. Iwaizumi has dirt under his nails and a smile that promises the world. He is everything, the entire universe in a spool of thread. Oikawa is just as wild as his friend is, usually hidden under the tight lid of mannerisms and duty, now blown off by the freedom of the unknown. They’ve been playing for hours, and Oikawa never wants it to end.

“Maybe we should watch out,” Iwaizumi’s eyes are on the sky and how the bold sun has started its descent. It wouldn’t be sunset for at least an hour or two, but it still takes time to return to the castle.

“Okay.” But it would be a pity to turn back and head to dark hallways and rules.

The forest opens up, still wild and untamed, but less dense trees and carpets of dead leaves. A small river runs across the clearing at the bottom of a steep slope. The rocks have formed a steep staircase down to the river, and even if there isn’t a tree trunk they can use as a bridge, they can hop across. The suede boots that Oikawa’s mother bought for him last month would get dirty, but it’s something he can deal with.

Red flowers sway across the river- Oikawa has never seen flowers that beautiful and vibrant shade of red. They curl up towards the sky, swaying between the reeds. He wants those flowers, no, he needs them, so he can pick one for Iwaizumi and they can hide the petals in their pockets as proof that today really happened. He tugs on Iwaizumi’s hand, and Iwaizumi protests but follows because he knows, as he always does.

The knights back in the castle wouldn’t be able to walk this narrow path, but the two of them are still small. Their feet can match the slanted stones, and their fingers can notch into the spaces along the cliffside. It isn’t a great fall, maybe just tall enough that they’d reach the bottom if they stood on each other’s shoulders, but it would still hurt. “Be careful where you step,” Iwaizumi tells him, just one step behind. “The rocks could be loose.”

“It’s fine,” Oikawa says. He can’t look back, not when he’s focused on his foothold. It shouldn’t take any more than a minute to reach the bottom.

‘They’re pretty aren’t they? How many do you think we can carry?”

A clatter, and a loud splash.

“We’ll keep them in the trunk in my room, don’t you think that would be good, Iwa—”

But Iwaizumi isn’t there.

Breath snagged in his throat, Oikawa hurries down the scale of rock to the bottom where his best friend has fallen. If he was the one who stumbled, then Iwaizumi would be the one to shake him, yell, and remind him how he said over and over again to be careful. But Oikawa didn’t expect Iwaizumi to slip— it hadn’t even crossed his mind that it was possible.

People are still when they’re unconscious, Oikawa reassures himself, but when he tries to lift Iwaizumi up, his fingers become dotted with blood. Iwaizumi’s skull is still wrapped tightly around a sharp rock, and when Oikawa tugs it free, the river flows red beneath them.

Maybe this is a dream. Someone, please come along and tell him that he’s dreaming, so that he can quietly accept it and slip back into bed. But Iwaizumi is heavy in his arms, neck limp where it should have been strong, lips parted around some words Oikawa will never understand. What is he going to do- to say, to Iwaizumi’s parents? What is he going to do for the rest of his life without his best friend around? Haven’t they planned out everything, with Oikawa to be king, and Iwaizumi to be his knight? Weren’t they going to live that perfect life together?

 _Magic._ With a pang of fear, he remembers what his tomes have told him— to bring someone back, to bind their soul to their shed physical form has a great cost. It’s advanced magic, far beyond the capability of that of a little prince, but the only other option is a life of empty dullness.

A clear bell chimes in his head. It doesn’t matter, he needs to do it before Iwaizumi becomes nothing but white marble.

Practicing in the castle archives have always been tedious, but now his memory is as clear as ever. The words rush effortlessly into his head and out his mouth as magic scoops out the shards of rock and debris and searches for washed out bits of brain. The reek of blood turns Oikawa’s stomach and he feels bile in his throat, but he needs to _concentrate_.

When the magic is no longer pounding at the tips of his fingers and all he can hear is the flowing of the river and the swaying of the trees, Oikawa can’t bear to open his eyes. If he looks now and finds out that he’s failed, then he’d have to think about what to say to his parents and the horror he’d feel for the rest of his life.

Silence becomes sputters become coughs, and Oikawa dares to peek to see Iwaizumi shifting, spitting river water. He touches the back of his head, where round bone had been caved in, and comes out with blood on his hands from a closed wound. He looks to the cloudless sky, then back to Oikawa, eyes wide with amazement. “How did you do that?” he asks, water still dribbling down his chin.

Tears prick at Oikawa’s eyes and he feels like he’s going to collapse. His head throbs, like something is trying to force its way out of his skull.

 

* * *

 

In the mirror he sees tiny sprouts of horns on either side of his head and throws a blanket over his hair. When he pulls the blanket away, the horns are still there and this isn’t a hallucination.

His mind is lost in motion but beneath the sweat and panic is a tranquility: this is what he asked for and this is how it was delivered.

 

* * *

 

He took the throne with his horns curled around the green velvet crown. The very next day, Iwaizumi donned ornate white armor during his official admission into the imperial guard.

To this day, nobody has suspected that Iwaizumi went through a horrific accident. He he looks fine, he acts fine, and there isn’t a trace of scarring on his skin. His limbs have grown longer and he’s filled out in ways that Oikawa has too. If nobody notices anything amiss, then Iwaizumi will be able to live out his life without problems. Only the two of them know, and they decided that day to never mention it again.

Oikawa will never say it any louder than a whisper, but he’s glad that Iwaizumi still decided to follow him. Being together until they grow old: the more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself that he didn’t make a mistake.

 

* * *

 

Ever since he started growing horns, he has vivid dreams.

He dreams that Iwaizumi will come to him late at night when he’s the only guard left stationed by his king’s door, as he always does, and Oikawa will let him in, as he always does. They will tumble together, share breaths, and love each other quickly and forever.

When Iwaizumi is checking the straps on his armor, he’ll say how Oikawa has changed, at which Oikawa will say that he’s always been the same. He’ll look blank as he says this, knowing that Iwaizumi has been the only one to ever see him beyond the crown and cape, and yes people change but he hasn’t changed so much to be a mystery. Iwaizumi will look at him almost sadly, as if he’s gone far away, and then take his leave.

Before the dawn comes, Oikawa will burst along the shadows of the castle and finding nothing, will scream and curse both his love that’s abandoned him and a hero who is still just a child. His thunderous misery will send the skies tumbling down and after it’s done, the night sky is silent and he will be as lonely as he ever was.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere along the way he stopped thinking of himself as human.

It’s not the times he’s taken his morning walks to see that someone has defaced the palace walls with A _DEMON SITS ON THE THRONE_ and _THE KING WILL BE THE END OF US ALL_ and _DEATH TO THE KING_. In poring over the history books, he’s found the only ones with magic that can rival his are all dead long enough to be legends. Dead, and never fully completely human, with a warp in their bloodline responsible for the immense power they wielded. Those belonging to the demon clan, going back millenia, were the most powerful of all, being able to call meteors down from the heavens and churn the universe so radically their name became associated with something evil. Because what is evil if not something too foreign for the regular mind to comprehend?

Demons have a few characteristics: alluring charisma, extreme talent in magic, and most importantly, their magical potential becomes so great that it begins to physically manifest as horns sprouting from the skull. The demon clan rarely appeared, their genetics recessive to the point of invisible, but their blood spread across the land and those that awaken their latent heritage will transcend their humanity.

He’s become one of those demons, and every look into the mirror reminds him of that. Despite that, he’s still a king, and a king must also make his kingdom glorious. He rallies the armies into more war, and under his rule he breaks cities with ease.

Iwaizumi reports the numbers of casualties to him in a firm but heavy manner. At the end, he lowers the scroll and asks, “Haven’t enough soldiers died for this war?”

“What does it matter? I can just bring them back to life.”

He can, but he won’t. That’s a privilege made for one person and one person alone.

 

* * *

 

“Brave, aren’t you? Supremely brave, my dear knight.”

Iwaizumi gives him a superb glare. Even with half his chest blown away by a guerilla magic attack, he still has the energy to make Oikawa pause. Blood dribbles from his mouth as he says, “Someone’s got to protect your dumb ass.”

Oikawa’s fingers are long and trail magic behind them as he sews veins back together. The work stains his nails red, trickling deep into his skin and ruining the cuffs of his sleeves. Innocently, he snags his nail on a ligament and gives a little tug. Iwaizumi winces, and knocks Oikawa with a brutal kick.

“You’re still not good at this.”

“It works, doesn’t it?” Oikawa even asked the maids for sewing lessons, after an attempt at patching up his shirt went so badly that he knew he could never have the finesse to patch up a human body. He’s gotten better, he can say that proudly now, even if Iwaizumi grunts and groans as Oikawa pushes his guts back into his body. “Don’t make so much noise.”

“This isn’t something I can get used to, you know,” Iwaizumi shoots back with no bite.

Iwaizumi’s chest is bare from where the magic blew his armor apart. Raw sinew has been covered up with its proper layers again, all tight muscle and taut skin. Seeing Iwaizumi’s body is nothing new, not since childhood when Oikawa would insist that Iwaizumi use the scented royal baths as well, but seeing Iwaizumi like this tightens Oikawa’s stomach.

Iwaizumi is perfect on one side and raw on the other when Oikawa slides over him and moves their mouths together. He tastes blood at first as Iwaizumi grunts, and feels teeth along his lips. “Now?” is Iwaizumi’s only point of exasperation before he goes quiet under Oikawa’s soft and needy hands.

They tangle together and become undone just as easily, as Oikawa stitches the last piece of Iwaizumi’s side back in place. Iwaizumi sucks in a deep breath, filling his lungs properly with air, and stays quiet. His hand finds its way into Oikawa’s hair, fingers gentle along the slope of his skull behind his earlobe. They both know this won't be the last time.

Iwaizumi would jump in front of any weapon to protect Oikawa from danger and Oikawa would put him back together, over and over again.

 

* * *

 

“Did you bind your souls together?”

Oikawa narrows his eyes at Kuroo, and doesn’t answer. He allowed the scholar from the Nekoma Academy of Magic to stay at the palace because he needs more mages around. The flipside is that what is a miracle to the untrained eye is a practiced art to those who know the same formulas.

“I thought so,” Kuroo continues as if Oikawa had answered him. “Your auras are too similar. Aura are like a fingerprint: they’re unique.” Then, leaning in close so nobody can hear them by accident, “How did he die?”

“If Nekoma burns, you’ll be nothing but a relic.”

“My king is so harsh,” Kuroo says without a trace of fear. “That’s advanced magic. Have you also studied the holy texts, your majesty?”

Considering he has many divine artifacts in the treasury, he's spent plenty of time researching where they came from. “Of course.”  

“Then you know what happens to the soul when someone dies— it goes back into the universe to be recycled and reborn. But you’ve sewn your soul to his. Your soul is preventing him from leaving, and your magic is keeping time from turning his body into what it should be.”

“What of it?”

“It means that you’d better live a good and long life, because you’ll be taking two souls with you.”

How dare the windows remain unshattered when Oikawa crumbles. But even as he cracks for the first time, he has his pride and his title, so he is as smooth as glass when he says, “Is that right?”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, you can let go,” Iwaizumi sighs. Oikawa has been clinging to him so hard his nails have left dents in Iwaizumi’s breastplate.

Iwaizumi, his knight, smelling like freshly sawed wood and greening moss, here with him. Here as long as Oikawa’s alive.

“I won’t live forever. But I’ll live as long as possible.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply to that, but he puts his hand on the small of Oikawa’s back and stays there until Oikawa lets his arms drop as exhaustion takes him.

 

* * *

 

The rebel had turned his blade against Oikawa, called him a demon, as if that was something to be reviled and not something to be proud of, as if a demon could ever work this hard and make the kingdom as glorious as it is. Oikawa could have flicked his finger as the man charged and turned him to dust or froze him with a stare, but he sits on the throne and waits for his knight.

Iwaizumi is the one to catch the rebel’s blade, and the rest of the guard tackles the rebel to the ground.

Death to the traitor.

The imperial guards aren’t executioners, not in the traditional form, but all the guards agree that someone who got so close to their king deserves a public death. As the head of the guard, Iwaizumi prepares his sword for the deed.

Iwaizumi has killed for Oikawa before, but never so publicly. On the throne, Oikawa watches Iwaizumi polish his weapon, the shimmer of the holy sword stronger than the shine of stained glass.

He’s always hesitated to say that Iwaizumi is his. To say that implies that Iwaizumi is his property, that Iwaizumi is an object that he can simply possess. Iwaizumi may be his knight, but he isn’t his in every sense of the word.

But imagining Iwaizumi’s rough, calloused fingers notched around the holy sword, arms heaving as he swings down- blood scattering along the blade, a splattered stain across shined steel- Iwaizumi heaving the blade back up, armor panels shifting as he breathes but shining and spotless- that is Oikawa’s and Oikawa’s alone.

To keep that shine going strong, one thing is abundantly clear: Oikawa must stay alive, at all costs.

 

* * *

 

Fire dances seductively, sliding across wood and flesh. The billowing flames consumes relentlessly, picking the living and the dead to be its new partner before swallowing them whole. It will be another three days before the magic cast will die down into coals, and by then there will be no survivors.

Oikawa sits triumphantly on his horse, red and yellow writhing across his black armor. Behind him is the imperial guard, having traded their ornate armor for something practical for battle, swords in their sheaths sleeping after having tasted blood. They always accompany their king, even when their king rides into the battlefield to turn yet another village into ash.

Iwaizumi is by his side, and the flames’ colors turn his white armor into a kaleidoscope.

“Was this necessary?” he murmurs.

“They were rebels.”

Iwaizumi regards him for a second, and with a measured voice made to mask his unease, he says, “Citizens burned too.”

Of course they did, because they were an example. Punishing the rebels is one thing, but they have spread their ideals by now, and are smart to keep them hidden. It’s not just enough to promise pain, not when a cause is bigger than a single person. Everything must be trampled; the rebels themselves, their families, their children, their loved ones, their possessions, their land, their memory.

Mercilessness is necessary to maintain rule. Nobody will point a sword at him when they’re full of fear. “Yes, they did.”

“People, Oikawa.”

People? How ridiculous. Those who burned, citizens or not, weren’t real people. They opposed Oikawa, their king. They’re just insects wearing the skin of humans. But the knight beside him, in strikingly beautiful white armor and a crease in his brow— there’s a true, beautiful human.

He sees himself reflected in Iwaizumi’s eyes, and all he sees is emptiness and smoke-blackened horns.

 

* * *

 

“I’m leaving.” Iwaizumi’s words come swifter than the executioner’s axe, enough that Oikawa is left blinking dumbly.

“Why?”

“Because you were supposed to rule fairly and honorably, not with fear and curses. I can’t support you, not when you’re like this.”

Oikawa laughs so heartily, not believing it until Iwaizumi turns and begins to walk on into the dark.

Panic rises from his toes to his skull as Oikawa shoots up. Threats and begging won’t work on Iwaizumi. In the whirlwind in his head, he blurts out, “You can’t leave. You're supposed to be by my side forever! I didn’t bring you back for this.”

Iwaizumi pauses at that, because they’ve never brought up that moment again, not after they straightened out the details so that their parents would never know what happened.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Iwaizumi turns to look at him, earnest eyes waiting. “If I walk out of here, are you going to reverse it?”

His finger would tap Iwaizumi’s head, and he’d pause, shudder for just a moment, before a hole hollows out the back of his skull and all the blood in his head comes draining out. Iwaizumi would glare at him as he fell, ever defiant, but even the brightest star will come to an end by crashing against the stone floor.

Then he could finally do it, scoop Iwaizumi’s heart out and hold it up to his cheek, feeling the warmth of how much life would surge through this every second, the warmth he loves and is now his and his alone.

A scream billows up from Oikawa’s throat, but it’s stuck by his tongue. His hands remain by his side.

Iwaizumi looks at him, knowing the thoughts in his head, and turns to leave.

As his love walks away, shining white armor protecting him no longer, something wells up in Oikawa’s lungs and it bursts out of his mouth with a yell of, “Are you going to kill me, Iwa-chan? Lead a rebellion? Have me put to death? Kill yourself?”

Without turning, Iwaizumi declares, “You are my king and I will stop you.”

Oikawa stands until he hears the palace gate heave up to let Iwaizumi out. As he sits on his throne, his heart slows and the fire in him simmers into ash and the horns are heavy on his head and he is truly alone.


End file.
